


I is for Integrity

by Janieshi



Series: Alphabet [9]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janieshi/pseuds/Janieshi
Summary: In which Havoc learns a carefully- hidden secret while trying his best to keep his Lieutenant from bleeding out in his arms, and General Grumman discovers a new ship.





	I is for Integrity

_Integrity/ɪnˈtɛɡrɪtɪ/ noun – adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty_

* * *

 

It was supposed to be a routine inspection.

Or so Havoc had assumed, but…maybe it _was_ a bit unusual for General Grumman to hand-pick the team he’d sent along with them. As backup, he’d claimed. But it wasn’t as though it _normally_ took two elite teams to check out a couple seedy-looking office buildings down by the warehouse district. And Hawkeye (who had been in charge of the so-called inspection) hadn’t seemed all that surprised when they’d stumbled onto a terrorist plot.

Although Havoc couldn’t be certain if it was due to her natural ability to take things in stride or because she’d actually had some prior knowledge that he hadn’t been privy to…

Either way, Havoc was pretty sure that no one had known about the explosives. And even if they _had_ , they couldn’t possibly have known that the leader of the little gang would be willing to blow his own stupid ass up in an attempt to take a few soldiers with him, or else they’d have made sure everyone got the hell out of the damn building before the bomb-happy bastard had had the chance. Grumman was certainly a wily old coot, but he cared about his people, so having them get blown into itty-bitty pieces would _never_ have been part of his plan – if there had been one, that is.

In any event, Mr. Mad Bomber had ranted and raved at them while his minions attacked (and while Havoc had wondered what the hell kind of routine inspection this was, anyway). And then, just when they thought they finally had him, the sonofabitch whipped out a goddamned _backup_ detonator that no one had thought he’d have.

The resulting explosion shook the building to its very foundation. Hawkeye screamed at the others to get out of there, and they didn’t wait to be told twice. Havoc alone hesitated, just for a second, and only to glance back over his shoulder to be sure no one got left behind. 

“ ** _RIZA_**!”

Catalina’s ear-splitting scream had Havoc whipping his head back around just in time to see that a portion of the ceiling above them was crumbling. And that his Lieutenant wasn’t moving fast enough to avoid it. Even if there  _had_ been time to stop and think about it, he liked to imagine that he’d have made the same choice. 

Moving at top speed, Havoc slammed into Hawkeye’s much lighter frame - hard enough to throw them both clear of the majority of the falling concrete and plaster. Though he tried to shield her with his own body, he still heard her bitten-off cry of pain as the debris rained down over them. 

The dull roar of falling rubble slowly died down to a murmur, then to a mere whisper. And then everything was quiet.

Cautiously, Jean pushed himself up and off of the soft body beneath his, taking extra care with the placement of his hands and knees. Coughing violently, he was dimly aware that his movement had dislodged a heavy layer of dust and sandy debris from his hair and clothing, which was currently falling all over his Lieutenant. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he managed in between hacking coughs. “You okay? ...Lieutenant?” 

No response. No movement. 

For a heart-stopping moment, Havoc was afraid he’d been too late after all; that his rash attempt at heroism had been useless. 

With shaking fingers, he twitched Hawkeye’s collar aside to feel for a pulse. And that was when he noticed the dark red stain slowly spreading across her uniform jacket.

He swore viciously, and fumbled open the buttons to see where the blood was coming from. There was a jagged tear in her black undershirt, and a corresponding hole in the flesh beneath that. He hesitated for a long moment, trying to think in cold, clinical terms like blood loss and proper application of pressure rather than how much pain she was in or what sort of expression would be on her face if she were conscious. 

“Sorry about this in advance, ma’am,” he finally murmured, gripping the fabric on either side of the jagged tear. The sound of ripping fabric echoed in the confined space as he ripped open her already ruined shirt to get a better look at the wound beneath.

“You could at least buy a girl dinner first, Havoc,” Hawkeye murmured.

Havoc startled, jostling Hawkeye a bit in the process, which made her hiss sharply.

“Shit! Sorry!” he cried. “I thought you were - hey, are you _okay_?”

“Aside from the gaping hole in my shoulder, I’m just peachy,” she replied dryly. 

“It looks pretty deep,” Havoc said. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he examined the bloody gash in his lieutenant’s shoulder. “What happened, anyway?”

“My target had a knife,” Hawkeye explained shortly, gritting her teeth against the pain. “And I got careless.”

Considering that her assailant’s partner had been the one waving that detonator around, her distraction was understandable. At least the murderous asshole was dead now; Catalina had made sure of that. And now Havoc understood the furious look that had been on the woman’s face when she’d pulled the trigger.

“Well, it’s sure bleeding pretty good, but not uncontrollably,” Havoc reassured Hawkeye in as cheerful a tone as he could manage. 

“Good. That’s good,” she panted. Havoc eyed the bloody remains of her undershirt. It  _had_ to be better than his own sweaty, grimy t-shirt, he reasoned. At least her jacket had kept most of the dust off of hers. 

“You hurt anywhere else?” he asked. As he spoke, he eased Hawkeye’s uniform jacket farther down her uninjured shoulder. Catching on to his intentions, she struggled to sit up so she could help him.

“I don’t think so,” she said, with an effort. “And you? Are _you_ injured?” 

“Nah. Just bumps and bruises,” Havoc lied, steadfastly ignoring the burning pains in his side that told him he’d likely cracked a rib or two with his little stunt back there. 

Hesitantly, he slipped an arm under Hawkeye’s back to help her sit upright. Blood trickled sluggishly from the knife wound, and although she winced, she didn’t make a sound. Working together, they were able to shed her jacket without jarring her shoulder too much. Havoc then finished what he’d started and tore the undershirt right along the seam.

As the fabric gaped open, slipping away from Hawkeye’s injured shoulder, Havoc suddenly realized that not all of the crimson patterns on her upper back were blood trails.

With one careful index finger, he nudged the torn fabric further aside. The patterns were circular, complex, and seemed to extend over most of her back. Momentarily distracted from the seriousness of their situation, he let a low whistle escape his lips.

“Say, nice ink, Lieutenant,” he said admiringly. “When’d you get this done?”

“You know...you’re the first person to ask me that,” she managed to say. Jaw clenched tightly, she was all but shaking with the effort of not whimpering in pain. Havoc frowned.

“That’s not actually an answer, Lieutenant,” he noted.

“No, it’s not, is it?” she retorted, shooting him a sidelong glance.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he said, slightly chagrined. “Off limits. Sorry.”

“’s’okay,” she said, shifting so that she could slide the remains of her shirt down her uninjured arm. “But, please, would you forget that you saw anything?” she requested quietly. “It’s…private. And I’d very much like to keep it that way. Please.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. Sure,” Havoc replied, confused. “I’ll keep it to myself, ma’am.”

“Promise?”

He’d never heard such a desperate, pleading note in Hawkeye’s voice. He immediately decided that he never wanted to hear it again.

“Yeah, I promise,” he swore.

“Thank you, Jean,” she whispered. Then she blacked out. 

Strange, Havoc thought. Even like this: unconscious and slumped against him, bleeding, shirtless and completely vulnerable - she was still every bit as intimidating as usual. He was almost afraid to touch her at all, although he had little choice. Someone had to apply pressure to that knife wound.

It took some maneuvering, but Havoc managed to arrange things so that Hawkeye’s upper body was propped carefully in his lap. Once she was settled, he pressed the balled-up black undershirt against her still-bleeding wound as tightly as he dared. At the same time, he tried to drag her uniform jacket back over her exposed torso, to preserve her modesty (and his life, he thought, shuddering. God help him if the colonel ever caught wind of this).

For heaven’s sake, why did she have to be wearing satiny black undergarments?!

Granted, the brassiere in question was as practical and no-nonsense as they came, sans frilly trim or those pretty little see-through lacy bits Havoc was so partial to. Nevertheless, it was black and satiny, and it was the only thing between him and a _very_ nice pair of breasts. The gentle swell of which were usually well-hidden under layers of staid black turtleneck and ugly blue wool rather than nicely accentuated so that the back of Havoc’s neck burned with every rise and fall of her chest.

“Get a grip, idiot,” he chastised himself, shaking his head. “She’d fucking shoot me if she found out I was staring at her tits, out cold or not!”

Focusing on the frighteningly pale pallor of her skin did nothing to assuage the fear curling in his belly. But at least it didn’t make him blush. And it kept him from wondering about that tattoo –the one he obviously wasn’t supposed to have seen.

“ _Really_ none of my business,” he reminded himself with a little shake of his head. It was very clearly something she didn’t want people to know about. Plus, he’d given her his word that he’d keep it private. Best to just forget it even existed, so his curiosity wouldn’t give it away, somehow. She was _counting_ on him.

In more ways than one, he realized, beginning to worry in earnest as Hawkeye’s blood welled up between his fingers. Praying that help would arrive soon, Havoc pressed down even harder on her wound and tried not to think about how fragile she looked.

“Stay with me, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “Help’s on the way. And you know the Colonel’d be _real_ pissed if you let something as dumb as this take you out of the game. He’d be so screwed without you, you know? Hell, we’d all be screwed without you there to keep him in line. So you’ve just gotta hang in there. Okay? Just…just hold on.”

Fortunately, help arrived a few moments later, in the form of a frantic Second Lieutenant Catalina and the burly warrant officer she’d dragged along with her. Between the three of them, they’d soon shifted the rubble enough to allow them to safely maneuver the still-unconscious Hawkeye through the gap. Once outside, a pair of medics swiftly took charge of the injured woman, leaving Havoc to scramble through the gap unaided.

But before he could do much more than heave a sigh of relief, certain in the knowledge that Hawkeye was in good hands, Catalina rounded on him.

“Look here, Casanova,” Catalina spat, poking him none-too-gently in the chest with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “If you weren’t already injured, I’d be offering you a busted kneecap!”

“Wha-? The hell did I do?” he cried, indignant. (And dammit, that sharp little fingernail  _hurt_! Or maybe that was the bruised ribs…)

“Leering at Riza like that,” Catalina snapped, practically quivering with righteous indignation. “You looked like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet!”

“WHAT?! I WAS NOT –” Havoc checked himself and glanced around, abruptly aware that there were several other people in earshot. Leaning slightly closer to Catalina, he hissed: “I wasn’t  _leering_ at her!”

“I know what I saw,” Catalina returned coolly, narrowing her eyes. “And I haven’t even mentioned the questionable placement of your hands.”

“The questionab—? I was trying to keep her from  _bleeding_ to death!” he snarled, forgetting to lower his volume this time. More than one head swiveled in their direction.

“Oh? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were thinking about taking advantage of an unconscious woman in order to satisfy your own prurient little fantasies,” she retorted, putting her hands on her hips.

“I was  _not_ taking  _advantage of_ \- I was applying pressure to a stab wound!” he shouted.

His face was turning the most fascinating shade of red, Rebecca noted with sadistic delight. She knew she was dangerously close to crossing a line, but the little verbal spat was keeping her mind off the woman whose blood was currently staining the pavement behind them.

“Applying pressure? Is that what they call it these days?” she said sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, that’s exactly what they call it, because _that’s what I was DOING_!” Havoc bellowed.

“And so what, her shirt just fell off all by itself, then?” Catalina huffed, incredulous.

“I-I had to use something to stop the blood–” Havoc stammered, turning even redder.

“Suuuure you did,” Rebecca interrupted. She gave him a significant look, a particularly suggestive one that she’d perfected over years spent working closely with General Grab-Ass. “I’ve heard all about you, pretty boy,” she said, scathingly. “And about your _proclivities_.”

Havoc wasn’t sure what that word even meant, but from the smirk on Catalina’s face, he knew it wasn’t anything nice.

“Listen,” he growled, his voice going low and rough (which Rebecca in no way found attractive. Nope. Not sexy at all). “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to,” he went on. “But let me get one thing clear: I’m not some kind of perv who gets off on helpless, _unconscious_ women.”

“Oh?” Catalina challenged, narrowing her eyes and taking a step closer.

Havoc made an angry little noise low in his throat. (Which absolutely did _not_ send a shiver down Rebecca’s spine).

“Even if she wasn’t my damn teammate,” Havoc spat, struggling to control his temper. “Even if she wasn’t talented enough to gun me down in the middle of a crowd and smart enough to make it look like an _accident -_ I still wouldn’t fucking touch her against her will.”

“She was unconscious,” Catalina pointed out.

“EXACTLY!” he shouted. There were definitely people staring now, but he didn’t even care.  “She was hurt and she needed my fucking _help_ , so I helped her! What is your goddamn problem?”

“She trusts you,” Catalina said quietly.

“Yeah, she does!” Havoc cried. “Because she knows I’m not the kind of sick fuck who’d take advantage of her, or of any other woman, and especially not one who needed my fucking help! I’d _never_!”

Catalina’s face suddenly softened.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed. 

“And another thing - wait, what?” Havoc blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the sudden change in Catalina’s tone.

“I said I know. That you’re not such a callous pig,” she clarified. “And that you’ve actually got integrity.”

“I…wait, _what_?” Havoc said again, bewildered.

“If you weren’t a decent guy, then Riza wouldn’t trust you like she does. Besides, you probably just saved her life, so....”

“But, you-you were just…all those things you said, and…I… _why_?” he stammered. Rebecca offered him a crooked grin.

“I _should_ apologize for winding you up, but watching you sputter with incoherent rage was a lot more fun than watching Riza bleeding out. Looks like she’s stable enough to move, now, though,” she added brightly.

Ignoring the way his jaw dropped open in shock, Catalina leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Havoc’s cheek. (Which totally did _NOT_ make Havoc’s heart skip a beat.  It **didn’t**!)

“Thanks for looking after our girl, Jean,” Rebecca said softly. “And for distracting me. I’d better run if I want to ride along with her to the hospital,” she added as she pulled away. “See you later!” 

And then she was jogging over to the ambulance that had just arrived. 

“I...wha- huh?!” Havoc cried, whirling.

He could only stare as Catalina engaged in some sort of debate with the head medic, involving much hand-waving and head-shaking. It was Hawkeye herself who ended the debate by struggling to sit up and barking a hoarse command at the medics. Exasperated, the man threw up his hands in defeat and allowed Catalina to clamber into the back of the ambulance with her friend. 

“What the hell just happened?” Havoc wondered aloud.

“A question I find myself asking daily around that woman,” General Grumman said.

“General, sir! I, uh, I was just...er, that is-” Havoc stammered, panicking. Where the fuck had he come from?! And how much of that conversation had he actually heard?

“At ease, Second Lieutenant,” the older man chuckled. “That Catalina is a feisty little firecracker, isn’t she? I can see why First Lieutenant Hawkeye likes her so much.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Havoc agreed, warily. 

“And you know…she’s single,” Grumman said, significantly. Havoc’s head whipped around so fast, Grumman burst out laughing.

“Relax, son, I’m only making conversation,” he guffawed, clapping Havoc on the back. “But seriously: you could do worse than a hot-blooded little minx like that!” he added cheerfully over his shoulder as he walked away.

“R-right...” Havoc managed, weakly. “I mean, I guess I’d never be bored…”

Not that he was considering asking Catalina out, or anything. Because he wasn’t. Really!

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Digi-fanCatt, who requested the word Integrity


End file.
